Divine by Cait Jarrod Page B

answer,” Matt
mumbled and disconnected his cell. He shoved the phone in his
pocket and snatched a beer from a neighborhood grocery store bag he
carried. Twisting the top with his teeth, he spit the cap into the
brown bag and moved through the woods to the bridge.
    By the time he’d stepped onto the footbridge,
he’d finished the beer. Holding onto the railing, he slid to the
splintery wood floor and opened another, this time with his hand.
The hoppiness tasted good, but it didn’t come close to what he
sought—eliminating the grief. He rested his forearms on a railing
and rotated until his legs hung over the side.
    The day he ran to the river like a maniac
came to him as if he lived the agony of Mom’s death again. The sad
part was all these years later, the ache hadn’t diminished, not as
he’d thought and hoped. Losing contact with Trina exacerbated the
issue. In her company, the pain lessened.
    He tilted the bottle and didn’t stop drinking
until he sucked out the last drop.
    Fuzziness messed with his vision. He really
should stop drinking and stop thinking about her. Being a glutton
for punishment, he didn’t take a break from doing either.
    He glanced at the bank where they had met,
then at the spot in the river where he’d jumped in to save her.
    Coldness seeped into his chest and limbs.
    “Fuck a duck!” He grabbed another beer and
knocked it back. Tomorrow promised to be a better day. Right?
    His rigid muscles relaxed. He reclined on the
bridge and stared at the twilight sky. “What did I do to deserve
this?” The haunting image of her followed him wherever he went. No
phone calls, no emails, nothing from her! “What the fuck gives?” he
shouted at the cardinals flying overhead.
    The setting sun warmed his face and the
flowing river lulled him. He sucked in a deep breath of damp
mustiness and pines. The scents usually carried him to fond
memories near the river and eased his mind, but not today.
    Nope, the area lacked its secret ingredient.
Trina.
    With the exception of being a sniper, she
fueled everything he did, everything he had done, everything he
wanted to do. Pathetic to let another person have such control of
your life, a person who brought him, a hardened Marine, to his
knees. Hell, he’d fought in the war, seen the worst of humanity,
and had kept a positive attitude. Now he struggled to keep his
wits.
    How weak to drown his sorrows in beer. Such a
fucking cliché. He rose, opened another bottle, and downed more
alcohol. Tonight, he’d give into this vice. Tomorrow, he’d try to
figure out a way to survive.
    Travis’ idea of moving might be the best
thing. He’d love to start fresh. Here, bittersweet memories plagued
him everywhere. She had been a distraction after he lost his
parents. What could possibly distract him from missing her?
    Each time his phone rang, his insides jolted
with anticipation and hope. Disappointment followed when he didn’t
hear her voice on the other end.
    Bradley called a couple of times right after
his last visit, but the suck-ass reception distorted his words.
Even though he and Bradley had become somewhat friends, he wouldn’t
talk about her and put either of them in an awkward position.
Besides, the loyalty between brother and sister outdid their
friendship. Nope, Bradley’s allegiance went to her first, as it
should.
    Travis move to Montana sounded more
appealing. It was a safe bet.
    The beer empty, he stretched out flat on the
bridge, draped an arm across his forehead, and closed his eyes.
From this day forward, he’d work toward the future—a new home, a
new life in Montana—and forget his past.
    “If only.”

    “ Get up!” a uniformed Marine yelled. Chaos
and destruction reined the area. Men flew. Pieces of equipment
whipped past as if a tornado had slung them. Metal impaled Matt’s
leg. He jerked one way then the other, trying to see what happened.
Did someone get hurt? Where were his fellow Marines?
    “Matt!”
    He didn’t call him